The north-eastern winds were becoming stronger
and stronger until it developed into a full gale. They arrived likea roaring tiger in the middle of the night. At times, the sound
of it was deafening, you forgot time and place, it felt as if the storm that
brought hail and fury would never end.

I had forgotten the waves

crashing, hitting, arriving

against the wide beach

sandy white

at the edge of our little world

how tiny we are, this space

compared to the vastness

they travess

powerful winds

likea tiger, roar ferociously

the forces of the universe

supreme creation

to be so close

to the edge of time and matter

where it does not matter

Every sunrise. Awakened.

Enlightened.

When the
weather permitted it, I would see how the men looked out to sea, lounging with
their backs against the wall on the verandah, smoking a roll of tobacco filled
nipah leaf - longing to be back in their boats riding the waves. They did not
speak, sometimes for hours.

But
their gaze spoke volumes. They were content, for it was a time for rest.

The sea
was like a drug that called out to the very soul. It whispered of adventure and
played images of the vast open. But beware! The sea severely punished
those who forgot her or her mighty powers. Even the lofty coconut trees
shook this way and that in the wind, but they were hardy and did not give way
to the master of the moment.

***

I marveled at this life of
bliss.

Life on land was unhurried,
languid - full of grace. Life at sea was wrought with danger - a race against
the tides, the winds, against time itself.

When the monsoon rains and
storms finally ceased, Pak Nakhoda readied his ship. Soon, we were
southbound.

This is an excerpt from my novel, NAGA - A Legend of Tasik Chini. I should not say more, but at least I am happy I have the chance to share a little bit about our monsoon. It is strange and magical, devastating and powerful.

The picture was taken in Terengganu, where this portion of the story is set, and the poem was inspired by the actual waves I heard on this beach the night we arrived.

The narrator however, is at a dangerous crossroad. To sin, or not to sin.

There was a woman who wrote all night
We wonder why she wrote all night
Perhaps she wanted to do what she felt was right...

There was a woman who wrote all night
We wonder why she wrote all night
She wrote all night to capture thoughts
We wonder why she captured thoughts
Perhaps to remind those who forgot
Perhaps to stop the rot...

There was a woman who wrote all night
We wonder why she wrote all night
She wrote all night to capture thoughts
She captured thoughts to shape her actions
Perhaps she wanted to share the notion
Of all that was good and beautiful and ancient

There was a woman who wrote all night
We wonder why she wrote all night
She wrote all night to capture thoughts
She captured thoughts to shape her actions
She wanted to share the notion
Of all that was good and beautiful and ancient
Perhaps she truly believed
In the wisdom of the old manuscripts
Lie buried under fathomless seas
Unless we seek to unravel mysteries
Legends long past hold the key
To our coded history

I imagine this is better as four poems. It seems a tad too clumsy being strung together like this. But the idea behind this poem was to show how the wind influenced so many aspects of our lives.
Our psyche. Our history. Our traditions.